Thy Will be Done
by redgrass-and-silvertrees
Summary: Free from one form of captivity and into another, Ciel Phantomhive muses on his new situation and finds his resolve to see it through.  No pairings, mild language


Thy Will be Done

~ ilikedan

Fire.

Why couldn't he dream of anything but that damned fire?

Even a month later, he could still feel the intensity of the heat; feel his eyes and lungs burning from the smoke, and mother and father…

Every night these images would assail his weak undernourished form even from his ramshackle cage located right in the center of Hell.

But he was no longer in a cage anymore, not in one of bars and iron anyway. In fact, he was in a very high-class hotel room. In his current state, he is unable to fathom the amount a room such as this would cost, but it had to be at least a thousand pounds per evening. Ciel vaguely wondered where the demon had managed to procure such a sum.

Ah yes, the demon.

Ciel quite literally owed the demon his life. He recalled laying there on that table, those monsters over him discussing the best way to gut him. Ciel had let his hatred and fury overwhelm his natural fear and inadvertently summoned a demon from Hell, a place probably no different than where the sadists planned to sacrifice him. Ciel had spent a lot of his early days in captivity praying for rescue or release.

He first prayed to mother and father… but they were dead, what use were they to him now?

Next he prayed for the authorities to come find him. He had been raised, after all, to consider Scotland Yard as God's justice of Earth. However, the police did not actually care about him or his wellbeing. He was also pretty sure he had seen a few of his torturers in the outside world, dressed as a hardworking constable or even an admirable inspector. Father had trusted the Yard to carry out most of the justice in London whilst he acted as the Queen's Watchdog. Ciel vowed that should he escape this, never would he trust the Yard and solitary would he remain on the Queen's missions.

Finally, and most fervently, he prayed to God. For time to reverse itself. For salvation. For freedom. For death… and then one day he prayed for death unto his captures, to wash in their blood and to rip the flesh from theirs backs as they did his. On the way to the alter for what was to be the last time, Ciel renounced God. He did not doubt his existence; he merely shunned him for his silence and cursed his holy name.

And then he came.

Seeing the demon standing over him, that wicked look upon his face, Ciel probably should have been more frightened than he was. Perchance if he weren't so panicked at the time or had not watched with acute delight the fear coloring his tormentors he would have thought twice before handing his soul over to a demon.

An undoubtedly atrocious grin rose to Ciel's face as he recalled the vicious way the demon had slain his captures. He had certainly spared no expense and ensured that all of those sick wretches suffered extensively.

He understood that some level that he was different, broken, tainted. He had no hope for reconciliation with God or anyone and, perhaps worse, had no desire for such redemption.

He can scarcely recall the demon bandaging him and cradling him with a gentleness that was a far cry from the way he had torn apart flesh and bone not minutes before. Nearing unconsciousness, Ciel had told the demon his name, the location of his home (or what remained of it anyway) and what he wanted from him.

Revenge.

A word he once associated with sin would now become the whole of his existence. He wanted to avenge the death of his parents, to brutally murder the bastards who taken from him his innocence. He had overheard his captures talking while on watch; he knew that someone had orchestrated all this from somewhere safe. Nothing else mattered but to kill that devil and remind him just who he was playing with, even if it meant Ciel had to resort to a real devil to achieve this.

When he awoke from his fire-soaked nightmare, he was in an oversized shirt between silken sheets with the demon lovingly at his bedside, ready to attend to his new master. He had certainly altered his appearance and was certainly more….presentable, however, Ciel could see the unholy flickerings of red tinged hate behind his russet eyes.

The demon unloaded a plethora of information upon the young noble who was still admiring the small fact that he was in an actual bed for the first time in a month. First of all, the demon was in the process of rebuilding the Phantomhive manor and it should be completed within a few days. He then apologized for being forced to access the Phantomhive's wealth in order to pay for his room and asked if the accommodations were to his liking. He then went on about how he had alerted key relatives (including the previous Phantomhive butler, Tanaka, who Ciel was certain had died in the fire) of the young noble's return. The demon told his dear relatives that he had been travelling to come to grips with his grief over his loss. What a pretty little lie it is. Finally the demon gave him a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea served with a light breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and a bowl of oatmeal while he informed Ciel of the recent doings of his father's toy company.

He spent awhile gazing lovingly at the beautiful spread of food is if to ascertain whether or not it actually existed. That was an hour ago. The plate had been licked clean, though Ciel did manage to refrain himself from actually licking the plate to retain some sense of dignity, and now he sat awaiting his demon to return. He had left to find Ciel some suitable clothes befitting a newly returned noble; after all, he needed to look his best when killing his parents' murderer.

So here he sat musing on his predicament. It was with great effort that he hoisted himself out of the luscious bed and onto the cool wooden floor. He then stumbled over to the bathroom on unsteady legs to assess his appearance. Not surprisingly, he looked like he just survived a month of brutal torture. In the mirror he saw that he was pale and gaunt and he could see his clavicle poking through the thin battered membrane of his skin. There were cuts and bruises all over his diminutive form not even counting the large stab wound the demon had bandaged before leaving the cult. He gently brushed the brand located on his Latimus Dorsi should Mr. Booker's teachings prove accurate. He had been given this mark on his first night of captivity and he could still feel the flesh burning at night when the fires returned beneath his eyelids.

Finally, he looked at his eyes. The bright sapphire irises he inherited from his beloved mother (along with his troubling asthma) that people never failed to comment on. They looked dead. They were hard and brittle and had nearly visible cracks where his soul had been shattered. He pushed his long bangs out of the way to more closely observe the unwavering deadness of his steely gaze. He straightened up and stared harshly at the reflection before him. He was small, he was weak, he looked like a lost little child…

And he hated it.

He had always depended on people in his life to care for him: Mother, Father, Aunt Anne, Tanaka, God even that bloody demon. Without him, he would have died pitifully and painfully on that alter. Rage colored his vision, for once not at others, but at himself. His pride flared. How could he, a Phantomhive, act so disgracefully? He had let those around him coddle him due to his sickly temperament and let his dependence on them cause his ruin. No, he was done being everybody's little doll to play with. With father dead, he was now the Earl Phantomhive. He was head of the household and the Queen's watchdog. Oh yes, no more days spent in pitiful lethargy, no more days of bright innocence where the world's lies were twisted until the virtuous could stomach their sweet words. From now on he lived in darkness. Oh he would smile at the appropriate people, attend all the necessary functions, dote on his pathetically naïve fiancé. But he would rule the underworld. He will keep the corrupted Scotland Yard at bay and he will find his parents' murderer. He was through playing spoiled child, now it was time to step up and achieve what he wanted.

But he couldn't do it alone. For all his natural cleverness and boundless hate and determination, he was still weak. Who in the underworld would fear, much less obey, a sad little child who they outweighed no less than three times? So he would use the demon. The demon may have claim to his soul at the end but until that time he would use him for all he was worth. He was bound to this devil by contract so why should he fear him? The demon wouldn't lie to him, cheat him or try and hurt him in any way unlike any humans he had ever met. He would embrace his curse; he did not need his parents or the Yard or even God, as long as the demon was there, he was invincible. After all, what purpose had he with a soul? His bitter fragmented soul was of no worth to him, only his revenge would satisfy this empty hole where his mother and father once resided.

His resolve complete, Ciel stared his new reflection in the mirror. What a cruel, unwholesome little boy greeted him, but one who would not be taken advantage of. For a brief moment, he wondered what his parents would think of what has become of him. Bitter, harsh, merciless and fearless, mother would be ashamed indeed. For a moment he wavered, was hatred the way he really wanted to go? And then he remembered that mother and father are dead and the rest was easy. Without thinking he picks up a hairbrush lying on counter and flung it into the mirror. The last image he saw before the glass shattered completely was his wicked visage glaring at the remnants of his former self. He stood there huffing at the exertion and within a few breaths time he heard movement behind him.

"You rang, Young Master?" asked the demon with his silky tongue, though Ciel no longer found the sound appalling, in fact, it sounded like victory.

"Yes, indeed you took your precious time getting here." I said turning around to face the demon whilst avoiding the glass littering the floor.

He grinned viciously "My deepest apologies My Lord, I was on the other side of town when I heard you had awoken." He got on his knee and did a deep bow, his hand where his heart should reside.

"Be quick about it next time, have all the arrangements been made?" I scoffed at such a gesture, frivolities suddenly held little meaning to me now.

"Yes, My Lord, and I must admit I am glad to see your temperament has improved. I was a bit worried about you." He said. I can feel his gaze penetrating me; I can feel the double entendre in his words.

"I only needed some time to recuperate, to reflect. Once the mansion is rebuilt, we must get through the meaningless trivialities my status requires, then we can get down to the real work." I respond back curtly, matching his unfeeling gaze with mine own dead eyes.

He bow again, and though my eyes may be playing tricks on me, it seemed just that much more sincere when he replies "Yes, My Lord. For now let me attend to the glass, such an unfortunate accident wouldn't you say?"

"Why should someone of my stature resort to trifling with broken glass, which is your job as the servant?" I bite back with an air of nonchalance I am beginning to enjoy.

"By the by, Young Master, there is something we need to discuss in regards to our contract" He replied getting on his knees, that silkiness entering his voice again "We need to discuss the location of your seal"

"My seal?" I asked

"Yes, it is a mark between the demon and the host human signaling the contract. It is more permanent than paper and ensures that I can find you wherever you are. I did not wish to place the seal on you while you were unconscious given your understandable distain for people touching you-" I flinched unconsciously, I cursed myself for showing any manner of weakness to him "-not to mention the location need be decided by you to ensure it is not seen by the public and can be easily covered." He stated as coolly as if he were talking recipes instead of branding a child. But I am no longer a child, so I will accept his seal as the collar it is meant to be. "Along with a seal, you will need to give me a name. It would not do to simply refer to me as 'demon'; as it may attract some unwanted attention to our game." As he said this he picked up a rather large piece of glass, in it, I caught the briefest reflection of myself, of my dead eyes. Such horrible thoughts I am thinking, but I grin anyway. How poetic would it be to willingly put my collar on one of my dead eyes? If I don't need a soul, what would an eye be to me?

"Sebastian" I bark, he looks up like the faithful mongrel he is "Until the time my revenge is complete, you will be my dog and assist me in anything I need, because of this, you will be called 'Sebastian' after the dog I used to own" He smiles back wickedly.

"I don't much care for dogs, My Lord, but I will hold that name as ordered until the final move has been played. Now as to the matter of your seal-" he began continuing to clean up the tiny shards of glass

"My eye" I respond quickly cutting him off, he looks up at me surprise flashing for the briefest moment in his ruby eyes. "It seems only fitting that mark should be placed upon an eye that has been deadened by the circumstances that brought you to me. I will gladly wear covering over it every day for the rest of my life, but when alone I want to remember my resolve every time I look at myself in the mirror. I will not forget this hatred that summoned you, I will not forget the injustice I suffered, and it will stare back at me as I look in the mirror every morning and evening." I glare down at the demon, newly christened 'Sebastian'; I can once again feel fire burning behind my eyes, only this fire tastes far sweeter. That wicked smile returns

"My Young Master is shaping up to be the most interesting master I have ever had the pleasure of serving. Now hold still, this will only hurt for a moment" He grins giddily as he approaches me like a predator to prey.

I ignore the bright stinging sensation in my right eye as I dream of the sweet victory of my revenge. For all I have gone through to achieve it, the perpetrator will have Hell to pay.

This came about of two musings 1) why on Earth Sebastian would put the seal on Ciel's eye, so I reasoned that Ciel chose that 2) my favorite part where Ciel goes down the list of who he prays to and how he rejects them one by one. Sebby is cool, but Ciel is what makes the show. He couldn't have been so bad-ass all the time, so I think he had a moment like this when he embraced his hatred and let go of his former self for good. Flames are not appreciated, but constructive criticism is always welcome. I am always looking to improve. Hope I did not waste too much of your time!


End file.
